EMILY

EIGHT YEARS EARLIER

It was a Tuesday morning in April … April fifth, to be exact. Everything that could go wrong in a day was happening to me. I woke up later than I normally do, throwing me into mass disorientation. I was an admitted control freak, my days mapped out weeks in advance, so it threw me off-kilter. Then I stubbed my toe on the door moulding of my bathroom because I was rushing around, which in turn, caused my toe to bleed all over my stone tile bathroom floor. I spent the next twenty minutes scrubbing a mess that should have only taken a minute or two, except the blood creeped into the grout making it harder to clean up, and to complicate things further, I couldn’t find the damn Bon Ami cleanser or a scrub brush.

Now I was on my way to the grocery store because I realized I had no breakfast food in the house, and I needed a new toothbrush since my old one was used to clean up the bloody grout.

I was born a disaster and never grew out of it.

I kept my head down while I hurried through the grocery store, grabbing cleaning supplies, a box of Fruit Loops, and some milk for breakfast. My hair was thrown up into a messy pony because I hadn’t bothered to try and comb out the tangled up mass of curls I possessed. The knees of my jeans had disintegrated several years ago and the wrinkled T-shirt I wore still had the remains of my latest cooking experiment dripped down the front of it. Glancing down at my feet, I noticed most of the polish had chipped off my big toenail and I had on one black and one navy flip-flop.

Silently, I prayed I wouldn’t run into anyone I knew. God was not listening to me.

Rounding the corner into the snack section, I rammed my cart right into another customer. Afraid to look up, I started to apologize profusely as I noticed the rugged flip-flops and a pair of beautifully sculpted hairy legs—man legs.

Allowing my eyes to roam upward, I took in muscled thighs covered by a pair of cargo shorts and a T-shirt stretched tightly over a well-toned chest. Both his arms and legs were a golden tan from the sun. Dark curls framed his shoulders. I could feel the blush creeping up my neck as I finally made eye contact with the man I had carelessly rammed into.

Recognition made me stop apologizing mid-sentence.

His eyes twinkled with mischief as his deep, raspy voice greeted me.

“Good morning. You’re Emily, right? Emily Golden? You were in my writing seminar a few weeks ago.”

Oh my God! I wanted to die on the spot. I needed a hole to open up in the middle of the damn grocery store and swallow me whole. I looked like something the dog would have thrown up, and who do I run into? Only the man I had been fantasizing about for the last two weeks.

Two weeks ago I went to a workshop for writers in Phoenix. The class was held by an up and coming author, Elliot D’Arcy. I loved his work and always splurged on his books as soon as they were released. Although I enjoyed my job as a freelance editor, my dream had always been to write. I played with it off and on, never really having the discipline to keep at it for long. I needed direction, so I decided to try attending a few seminars and workshops to give myself a boost.

Elliot D’Arcy’s class was one of the best I had attended. I left feeling energized and eager about writing. I also walked out with a huge schoolgirl crush on the instructor. Elliot D’Arcy was the epitome of what I thought the perfect man should be—funny, driven, successful, and absolutely beautiful. The man was sexy as all hell, and he fueled more than a few fantasies over the last two weeks as I wrote—and slept—and breathed.

And here he was, standing in front of me in a grocery store, looking at me when I looked like dog shit. This only happened to me.

“Hi.” I sounded like an idiot. “You have a good memory. It is Emily … I loved your seminar, I got a lot out of it…” I knew I was rambling. “I usually don’t look like this,” I tried to explain. “Let’s just say I wasn’t having the best of mornings today.”

He laughed as I fumbled with my words.

“I don’t think you could ever look anything but beautiful,” he replied.

I looked at him to see if he was making fun of me but he didn’t appear to be.

“To be honest with you, I have been kind of looking around and hoping for a chance to run into you again,” he continued. “I could have looked up your info on the registration from my class, but I wasn’t sure how you would have taken my calling you. I didn’t want to come off all stalkerish.”

“Why?” Then I laughed. Could I get any more stupid sounding? A gorgeous man was looking for me and I asked why?

“Well,” he sounded nervous now, “I wanted to know if you would like to get together for a glass of wine or dinner?”

“With you?”

“Yes, with me.”

I groaned and covered my face. This was a disaster—I was a complete nutcase.

“I’m sorry, Elliot. I am way off my game this morning and sound like a total idiot. You caught me off guard and I’m so embarrassed … I would love to have a glass of wine with you or dinner.”

“I have a lot of days like that. Don’t be embarrassed. You really do look beautiful. I don’t want to sound too eager, but, what the hell, are you free tonight?”

“I am,” I replied. If I wasn’t I would definitely be clearing my schedule.

“Do you want to meet me somewhere? I can text you a place when I figure something out?”

He handed me his phone to put my information into it.

“I’ll see you tonight, Emily. I’m looking forward to getting to know more about you.” He put his hand on my shoulder and gently squeezed as he turned to go check out.

I stood there for a full minute gazing at his rear end as he walked away. Letting out a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding, I literally skipped as I finished my shopping.

I felt my phone vibrate in my back pocket while I was loading my groceries into my car. Pulling it out, I glanced at my messages and saw a heart from Elliot. This was turning out to be a fantastic day, despite its beginning.